


New Year's Eve

by Alexis_Madeline



Series: Runaway [2]
Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort fic, Fuck yeah bois I'm projecting hard on this one! Let's get it!, Kisses, Mikey is also a thief, New Years Eve, OOC bc Mikey is a soft boi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22044613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexis_Madeline/pseuds/Alexis_Madeline
Summary: You don’t know much about him except that he’s listening, his hands are warm, and he saved you.
Relationships: Michael Myers/Reader
Series: Runaway [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586752
Comments: 6
Kudos: 85





	New Year's Eve

“Think we’ll see fireworks from here?” 

You don’t expect an answer as you lean back in your seat, staring at the sky. For all you know, Michael is already asleep. The radio plays softly in the background as 2 hosts go on about new year's resolutions, mostly promoting gyms, brands, the whole spiel. You take a sip of your hot chocolate and smile. You’ve never been out for New Year's on your own volition, you’ve always found yourself staying inside on your laptop or phone watching live streams instead. 

Though, you don’t really consider this as being out, but it’s somehow so much more fun than being in your room. Maybe it has something to do with being with someone- someone you _like_. 

The knife in the center console has remained clean, much to your relief. The two of you have been driving for the last few days, sleeping at rest stops and eating fast food. You’re not sure what Michael’s end goal is, but you’re happy with what you two are doing right now. Besides, you’d rather not think about what could potentially happen once you run out of money. 

The rest stop is a bit vacant right now, about 3 other cars are on your side, so you step out to stretch your legs. The clothes you’re wearing are nice. Apparently Michael is well versed in stealing, you learned a couple days ago. You mentioned to him that you needed a new set of clothing, that you’d run in a Walmart or Target and buy something for the both of you. He didn’t seem to like the idea of you going anywhere without him, so he held his knife to your throat until you understood that he wanted you to stay in the car while he took care of it. 

You looked away when he took off his mask and walked out. It was about 30 minutes later when he came back with bags stuffed with clothes and snacks. You keep your eyes closed until he starts the car. 

“Holy shit, how did you manage that?” 

You look through everything, shirts, pants, sweatpants, jeans, socks, underwear, chips, candies, sodas, even toiletries. God damn, this guy is a legend. 

You look up to him, “Thank you.” 

He doesn’t acknowledge you as he turns out of the lot but you smile, open a pack of Reese’s and offer one to him. 

Your back cracks as you twist around and you watch your breath swirl as you sigh at the relief. You open the back door and grab a change of clothes and your toothbrush, “I’m gonna run by the bathroom and change, I’ll be right back.” You say quietly, though you're sure he's resting, if his slow breaths are anything to go off of. 

Halfway to the bathroom, you hear his breathing right behind you. 

“Sorry,” You say, turning around, “Did I wake you?” 

He stares you down and you give a sheepish smile, “Sorry about that, I’ll change as quick as I can and hopefully we can see some fireworks.” 

He follows you and waits near the entrance. You see his mask in the mirror when you brush your teeth. 

“Did you want to change or anything, I’ll wait outside the bathroom if you want.” 

He takes your hand and you both walk back to the car. You get in the driver’s seat, reassure him that you can keep driving for another few hours. 

“I just wanted to stop and celebrate the new year for a few minutes, I guess,” You smile sheepishly as he gets in the passenger seat, “That, and I’m a bit worried that people on the freeway would get distracted or something.” 

He looks out the windshield and you drink some more hot chocolate, offer some to him. Surprisingly, he takes it, lifts his mask over his mouth and gulps some down. 

“Are you excited for the new year?” 

He places your cup in one of the holders and stares at you. 

“I know it doesn’t really mean anything but it’s nice to think of having a new beginning.” 

He doesn’t move, his eyes still on you. 

“I, um, wanted to thank you again,” You turn to him, “For letting me have the opportunity to,” You shift your eyes, looking for the correct words, “Start fresh, you know? So, uh- thanks.”

He head dips slightly before turning back to the windshield. You kind of miss your phone (you still check your pockets for it occasionally) but you listen to the radio to pass the time. You’re not sure what music Michael likes since he let you be in charge of changing the stations. It plays a song that you’ve heard at least 20 times within the past few days. You hum along to it, taking the last sip of your drink. 

“I remember when I used to celebrate New Year’s with my parents,” You say, mostly to yourself, “Way back when I was little. They bought me and my brother sparklers to play with and we’d all go to the local firework show and my dad would let me sit on his shoulders.” You sigh, lean back into your seat, “They never got along but somehow they would set their arguments aside and just let me and my brother have fun.” 

“I don’t know what changed and I don’t know why _I_ was the one caught in the middle of them. It was always me and I just,” You rub your eyes, “God, I was just a little kid but they would scream so much and pressure me into picking between them and I just wanted to watch fireworks and be a kid. I didn’t understand.” 

You glance at the radio, 11:57 PM. 

“I remember when I was like 6 or 7, I was getting ready at my mom’s place to go pick up my dad and brother, but I guess my mom and dad got in such a big fight that she decided we weren’t going at all. And of course I was upset, but she yelled at me when I told her I wanted to go so I just went in my room and cried because I didn’t know why I made her so angry with me.” 

You glare at the stars, “Then my dad came over and I could hear them yelling so I come out and my dad grabs my arm and starts pulling me out the door and then my mom grabs my other arm and pulls me towards her and I remember thinking that they’d rip them off because it hurt so much.” 

You feel Michael’s hand envelope yours and he’s so gentle. He’s warm, reassuring, and you don’t understand why. You turn to him and you don’t see his eyes but you tear up regardless as you stare into those black voids. He’s endless, you think, as your eyes dart back and forth between his. There’s nothing there, is what you’ve heard about him, but whoever said that was an absolute idiot. The mask doesn’t betray anything, but his hands, somehow, have shown you more comfort than you’ve ever gotten. He’s a brutal killer, but the most kindest person you’ve ever met. You don’t understand. You think he’s an enigma, perhaps, a paradox. You don’t know much about him except that he’s listening, his hands are warm, and he saved you. 

“Sorry,” You let out a small laugh, willing yourself not to cry, “I guess I’m a train wreck, I’ll be quiet now.” 

You look back out the windshield and he squeezes your hand as a single tear drops. You snicker, wiping it away, “I’m such a baby, I shouldn’t even be talking about this stuff- I’m going to leave it behind in about a minute.” 

You blink, let out a sigh, “Let’s enjoy the new year, together.” 

You pull out a bag half full of miniature candies and hand him a hershey bar, “Cheers,’ You tap your krackel bar against his and listen to the woman on the radio begin to count down. 

“10,” She says, and Michael is still holding your hand. 

“9,” His hand leaves yours and you can’t help but look at him, missing his touch. 

“8,” Both hands grab his mask and your eyes widen. 

“7,” You close your eyes, turn away. 

“6,” The sound of shifting latex. 

“5,” An exhale, a stuttering heartbeat. 

“4,” Warm hands rest on your jaw, coax you into turning back to him. 

“3,” Fingers tap against your cheek.

“2,” You open your eyes. 

“1,” A gasp, mismatched eyes. 

“Happy New Year!” 

A gentle kiss, warm hands, a heart skipping beats. 

He pulls back and you resist the urge to kiss him again, though you so badly want to feel those chapped lips against yours once more. 

You slowly open your eyes, “Happy New Year, Michael.” 

His cheeks are tinted red and his expression remains stoic. He gives you a slight nod and puts his mask back on. You lean back into your seat, still smiling. 

There’s fireworks in the distance and both of you watch them. The pounding of your heart is drowned out by the sound of the explosions. 

You’ve never had a New Year’s kiss. It’s the best thing in the world and you find yourself hoping that Michael will kiss you many more times as the year progresses. 

“Thank you,” You say, because you mean it, “That made me very happy.” 

And you hope you can make him happy, too.


End file.
